


wishful thinking

by ventilation



Category: Justice League vs. Teen Titans (2016), Reign of the Supermen (2019), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventilation/pseuds/ventilation
Summary: they told him to imagine it, and he did. not a good idea
Relationships: Kon-El | Conner Kent & Raven, Kon-El | Conner Kent/Raven
Kudos: 30





	wishful thinking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grassfour](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=grassfour).



> this is based on grassfour's [konrae acting!au photoset](https://grassfour.tumblr.com/post/625692493824114688/grassfour-whats-this-%E7%B9%BC%E7%BA%8C%E9%96%B1%E8%AE%80-a-story) and a conversation we had. /////

Conner fidgets with his collar, but a soft nudge on his side from Mercy makes him stop, fingers curled over the fabric.

“You’ll ruin it,” Mercy warns him with a soft nudge to his side, making him stop fidgeting with his collar. “We haven’t even started yet.”

There’s a bored look on her face as she surveys the area, despite the current affair being anything _but._ Nevertheless, he understands the blankness in her stare and her general lack of interest with the going-ons and happenings. It isn’t a part of her job to tag-along with his filmings, so she’s not used to being idle for so long, and even he admits that waiting isn’t really all that exciting.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he responds, smiling, and he lets his arms fall to his side. She takes a glance at him in the corner of her eyes, before she looks back at observing the surrounding. Conner follows suit.

The set is quite honestly a bit _much._ Sure, he had predicted it to be nothing less than grand, especially considering the names behind this project, but it had still surprised him to find high ceilings, intricately detailed walls, pointed arches and large stained glasses. He’d known they’ll be using a church to film most of it (and, then do the rest in the studio) and, yeah, he knows the clients are rich, but he’d at least thought, _y’know._

This is for a thirty second ad, and they’re not even going to be using the set for more than a few shots. Isn’t there like a budget limit or something?

But, then again, he reminds himself of the names behind the project and the client itself, so yeah. Nothing less than grand, and this is _nowhere near_ less.

Mercy crosses her arms when she spots Donovan marching towards them. Conner guesses the phone call he had to answer and excuse himself for minutes earlier had finally finished. The darkness under his eyes tells him that it hadn’t been a good call. Or, maybe that’s the remnants of a hangover?

… It could just be his face in general. 

“Okay, apparently they want this to not only look authentic, but to _feel_ authentic as well,” Donovan says once he reaches them, and Conner does not bite his bottom lip. He wants to though, but he settles instead on tapping a foot on the ground, the sharp _tap tap tap_ barely heard over the hubbub surrounding them.

“How authentic?” Conner asks after running his tongue on the back of his teeth.

Donovan sighs as he pushes back his glasses higher along the bridge of his nose. “They don’t want people to just watch a commercial. They want people to _witness_ a marriage.” A pause. _“That_ authentic.”

Conner stills at his words (at the implication, at the weight of his words— _because you started this_ ), his breath stuttering inside his chest, but it’s a reaction he’s able to recover quickly from, and he lifts his eyes to look at Donovan’s quirked brow. “I’m guessing this isn’t the fragrance company talking?”

“No.” Because, _of course_ it’s not. He could feel his shoulders rising, and _right_ . This isn’t _just_ a commercial for some luxury brand fragrance—which quite honestly smells a lot better than his current cologne. (He’ll need Mercy to take note of whatever they had spritzed him with in the meeting a few days ago.)

This isn’t just him acting for an ad, and he lets his shoulders fall. “Did Dad at least have anything more specific in mind?”

“To not mess this up.” _Ugh,_ right.

His eyes seem to reach the back of his sockets with the way he had rolled his eyes. It’s just _typical_ of Daddy Lex to say that. “I won’t.”

But, unlike the previous times he’d replied to his father’s warnings of _don’t screw this up_ s and _don’t slack off_ s in past projects, there’s real weight in his words, a solemness despite the flippancy of his body language. Conner understands the apprehension this time. Because, this isn’t just LexCorp nor is this just Wayne Enterprise, and though this advertisement is meant to showcase the new line of a certain French fragrance, it’s not just that either.

This is LexCorp _and_ Wayne Enterprise, and this—he gestures mentally, waving an imaginary hand to _everything_ —is _also_ a promotion to the upcoming movie the two companies are involved in. It might not sound like much to a lot of people and some may even find the tension as a ridiculous overreaction, but _it is_ a big deal _._ A long story that he doesn’t really want to relay right now, but it really is a big deal.

(And, this is his; hers— _their_ fault, and he can’t mess this up, not even the tiniest bit, because if he does— _well._ He’d rather not think about it.)

A call in the background notifies them of the time (ten minutes until filming), but he pays it no mind as he retrieves his script from Mercy and gives one last quick scan. Something about a dramatic running scene along the walkway, followed by a few close up shots of the both of them, and—he scrunches his eyebrows. After that? Nothing much. 

How the hell does he make this feel like a wedding? How does he _make_ this a wedding? He groans.

He doesn’t mind doing commercials. They’re essential for an actors’ portfolio and shit, so he’d gladly do whatever it is they want him to. But, this is—

“Impossible,” Conner says as he hands the script to Donovan. “Can’t do it. Hard. Not enough time or screentime to properly convey emotion. There aren’t even _lines.”_

Donovan frowns, “Can’t you just—I don’t know. Make it up. Project a past experience or something? That’s how you act, right?”

Where is his team, and why is his father’s personal assistants here with him instead? _Fuck._ “It doesn’t work that way. And, _no._ Haven’t gotten married yet so I don’t have any reference.” A groan. “Just tell Dad that—”

“ _Look,”_ Mercy snaps, and Conner couldn’t help but flinch from the severity of her expression, the stoicness finally breaking to show her impatience and annoyance. Yeah, she really doesn’t like tagging along in his filming. “You’re not Conner Kent and Rachel Roth, just a regular sweet couple that’s dated for four years, and now you’re finally going to get married today. Best day of your life. Imagine that. _Shouldn’t be that_ fucking _hard.”_

“Easy for you to say,” he responds—at least, in his head, because as much as he knows the difficulty of achieving something that’s almost virtually impossible to achieve, Mercy wouldn’t have it. She wants results, and she _will have those results._ She doesn’t need complaints, and he fears that if he replies vocally, whatever she’d do wouldn’t be … nice. (She’s Lex Luthor’s most treasured (as treasured as one could be with Lex Luthor) employee for a reason.)

And, in a way, what Mercy said is right. He’s Conner Kent, LexCorp’s rising star. Its _Superboy._ This isn’t his first commercial, nor is this the first time he’d been given a role that almost seemed hopeless of him to portray. Conner had been given _so much;_ he’d always given back twice as much—why stop now?

Yeah. 

This shouldn’t be fucking hard.

\--

“Nervous?” 

“Hmm?” He hums as his makeup artist swipes a brush along his brows for touch up.

“About the big day, I mean,” she says with a teasing lilt in her voice, and Conner blinks. Big day—wedding?

Oh.

“ _Oh,_ ” another blink as he finally processes the joke, and _hey, what the hell,_ what better time to get in character than now, right? Conner manages a smile. “Yeah.” Wait, no, not believable enough. What kind of person isn’t nervous on their wedding day? He tries again. “Well. Maybe just a _tiny_ bit.”

It’s the bridge of his nose next. “Pre-wedding jitters?

“Uhh, I—I think? I’m not sure. I just … hope this goes well.”

He receives a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid, this’ll turn out fine. You got this.” Someone in the background notifies them of the time (“Two minutes.”), and with a few more strokes here and a little inspection there, she’s done. “I’ll be looking forward to congratulating a Mr and Mrs Kent later then.”

“Okay.” Well, _that_ was certainly weird, and Conner shakes his head.

This is going to be awkward, he just knows it. He’ll probably have to prepare an apology for Raven later. The director had talked to both of them about the “authenticity” thing just before they’re ushered to their places (his: at the altar; hers: behind the doors), so he at least knows Raven is aware of the change. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to plan the words in his head on the chance that this becomes awkward. Perhaps a token of apology as well ... cookies?

“Frame!”

Well, it seems that that thought has to wait for now, and he breathes in.

“Action!”

The doors open.

\--

It must be the lighting. He’d heard of light manipulating the way one sees once in a documentary, and he’d watched the way they had used light to cast illusions and play tricks in the minds of people. Maybe it’s his impulsive decision to skip breakfast that’s causing him to feel things. Or, perhaps there’s something in the air? This is a five hundred year old or so cathedral after all, who knows what kind of dust particles it has collected over the centuries and what those can do to someone’s mental state.

It could be all three—he doesn’t know. Conner doesn’t _know,_ but what he does know is the way his heart had stuttered, how he’s suddenly lightheaded and feeling as if his stomach had just dropped down to his toes when she came in, veil fluttering behind her and shoulders set as sunlight hits her skin.

He’d seen her in the dress beforehand. It’s a pretty, fluffy thing that reminds him of Disney princesses. It’s pretty, but, she’s pretty… _-er,_ and Conner thinks he might be dying, because he knows she's pretty. He _knows_ _,_ and yet he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the image of her practically floating like some kind of vision.

She’s so pretty in white, and he feels his cheeks burn and his palms start to sweat. Her steps are graceful and deliberate, and he’s suddenly reminded of a cat in the way she walks. Funny, how she’s more like the hot-cold mischievous black cat than the creature that bears the same name as hers. Raven reminds him of a cat, and he feels the corner of his mouth quirk upwards at the thought—or did it quirk _downwards?_

He raises a hand to touch his lips, and he’s taken aback from their trembling. As if they have no idea what they should be doing right now, so they’re just stuck between the awkward point between a grin and grimace. A _grinace._

Conner doesn’t doubt that he looks like an idiot, but after a moment’s worth of deliberation though, he finds that he simply does _not_ care. When she lifts her head fully to look at him, he does not care for how stupid he must look like right now.

The smile on her face is soft, and he wonders what it feels like to trace the outline of her lips with his fingertips. Is it as soft as it looks? And, her hair. He’d seen her movies, and not one of them has her having the same hair style. It’s always different colours, different cuts, different ties. Each time, different. Each time, still so pretty.

Pretty ...

Oh, _god_ , she’s _so pretty,_ and his heart jumps to his throat, and he feels it beat in sync with the music bouncing off the walls and echoing through the hall.

 _Pachelbel’s Canon in D._ It’s pretty cliche, but she’s secretly romantic so he doesn’t mind it when she had chosen it despite the long list of recommendations they’ve been given. It really _is_ a moving song, and he feels the croon of the violins and pianos around him, rising goosebumps along his arms and neck.

It quiets down when she’s but a few steps away—five, four, _three_ —and, he takes a step forward—two—to reach for her, offering a hand. (One.)

She takes it. She’s warm and soft, and he squeezes her hand once she’s settled on her spot. Her eyes glitter in amusement and Conner swears he could drown himself in them for eternity. The priest coughs, and a few people in the pews chuckle at— _oh._ A sheepish “sorry” is said when he realises how long they've been standing there idly, holding up the ceremony. He lets her go, his fingers trailing along hers as both their arms go back to their sides, and Raven snorts at his antics. It’s a pretty little sound that makes him want to clutch his heart and weep.

What did he ever do to deserve her? He doesn’t know, and maybe he will _never_ know, but that’s fine. He doesn’t have to know, and he lets himself smile, the corners of his mouth reaching painfully to his ears, watery and trembling, because, _god._

 _Really,_ what a lucky guy he is—

_“Conner.”_

And, just like that, the vision cracks, and he’s thrust back into—where is he? Cathedral, fragrance, commercial, acting—

Right, _acting._ He swallows, because this is _just_ acting and Raven is still walking down the aisle—she’s not in front of him, there is no priest, the pews are empty, it’s quiet and whatever he just saw is not reality. It’s … just his imagination, a way to prepare himself for his part, because they wanted authenticity—they wanted it to _feel real_ , and—wait, _was that his cue?_

A subtle look from his periphery, and he sees Mercy point towards— _oh!_ He’s supposed to meet Raven half-way ( _... a dramatic running scene along the walkway, followed by a few close up shots of the both of them ..._ ), and his legs move before he could finish processing his thoughts. Even from the distance, he could see the startled look on her face, and—

His foot is caught by a fold on the white carpet, and oh, _shi—_

He falls face down on the floor.

“Cut!”

Lex is going to _kill_ him.

(An hour later has him staring at the replay while she laughs, and _fuck,_ he should be annoyed _at_ her. He should be fearing his _life._ He should be feeling so many things right now, but not— _not—_

Conner pauses in his thoughts when she snorts, and the hardness of his face softens when he looks at her. White dress, pinned back hair: _pretty,_ even as she tries to stifle her giggles with the back of her left hand, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezed shut.

 _Fuck,_ he shouldn’t be disappointed. He _really_ shouldn’t be, and shit, he’s not even sure _what_ he’s disappointed about, so why the _hell_ is he?)

(And, _no,_ it’s not because she doesn’t have a ring on her finger, because that’s just stupid.)

\--


End file.
